


Pete n' Patrick and the Quest To Find Travis Lazarus Mccoy

by emeraldcitydowntowngirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes
Genre: M/M, New York City, VERY unrealistic! but you know what!, peterick doing cute things!, who told this bitch (me) that she could write!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-12 16:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldcitydowntowngirl/pseuds/emeraldcitydowntowngirl
Summary: "You know who I miss?" Pete asks, muffled against the material of Patrick's sleep shirt. It's soft against his face, against the stubble, and Patrick smells so good that Pete wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life like this. Nose buried in body wash and lotion and a hint of gingerbread coffee, one arm tossed over Patrick's stomach."Bronx? I miss him too," Patrick says softly, bringing a hand up to curl in Pete's wet hair. "Maybe we can call Ash, see if he's still awake to FaceTime.""No, not Bronx," Pete says, before he backtracks, "well, no, I miss Bronx a lot. And we should definitely give her a call. But I mean Travie. Patrick, we should see if we can see Travie before we head back."OR: Pete and Patrick try to find Travie in New York City before the day is done. Travie, who lives a couple of hours away in Geneseo... who has no idea that they're planning to do this. And in New York City... in the middle of a snowstorm. It sounds like Pete's stupidest plan to date, except it ends up being sorta amazing.





	Pete n' Patrick and the Quest To Find Travis Lazarus Mccoy

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by pete's snaps of him hanging out in NYC after their MSG show! wish i were there but alas! 
> 
> to the tune of 'bitch, why you mad? cause my pussy pops severely and yours dont"- bitch, i am sad! cause everyones fics pops severely and mine dont!
> 
> NSAJSKDJKSDJAKSDJASD. ANYWAYS i am kinda iffy about this, maybe because im a lil nervous having my work added to a collection full of talented writers but uh. fake it till u make it! yeah! woo!

Although this is second time that Fall Out Boy has performed at Madison Square Garden after the hiatus, performing there always gives Pete a rush that he can’t explain. It feels victorious, like every time the song ends and the crowd roars and he looks over at his band, at his fucking soul-mate standing behind the microphone, he feels like he just ran the world’s toughest marathon and he’s at the finish line. New York has always been cruel to him, Madison Square Garden was where all hell broke loose all those years ago, but now they’re back. After the show, they hug, all sweaty and smelly, and there’s no shouting in corridors like in 2009, with Pete on his knees begging for Patrick to just think it over, to not give up on the band. On _him_. If he thinks about it, he can still feel the sting. The humiliation of pulling himself up, knowing that nothing would work.

In 2017, he was on his knees in the empty corridor with Patrick for a totally different reason. Not that… y’know… anyone had to know about it.

They finished what they started at the arena in the hotel room, fingers cold from the December weather, fingers cold from lube, and when they finished, they took a shower, and here they are: under the covers, legs brushing together because of the slippery silk sheets. The lights are off, but they’re not sleeping.

"You know who I miss?" Pete asks, muffled against the material of Patrick's sleep shirt. It's soft against his face, against the stubble, and Patrick smells so good that Pete wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life like this. Nose buried in body wash and lotion and a hint of gingerbread coffee, one arm tossed over Patrick's stomach.

"Bronx? I miss him too," Patrick says softly, bringing a hand up to curl in Pete's wet hair. "Maybe we can call Ash, see if he's still awake to FaceTime."

"No, not Bronx," Pete says, before he backtracks, "well, no, I miss Bronx a lot. And we should definitely give her a call. But I mean _Travie_. Patrick, we should see if we can see Travie before we head back."

Everything about New York reminds Pete of Trav. Of Travie and Gabe, two people Pete doesn’t see enough.

Trav, Gabe, William… even Ryan Ross, who’s still hanging around Ryland and Vicky, they’re slowly falling away from Pete. And in New York, all Pete thinks about are things falling apart. Slipping through the spaces between his fingers, like soft snow filtering to ground before it liquefies at contact to the ground and seeps into the drainage system.

“Trav?” Patrick asks, confusion in his voice, “where did that come from?”

“I’unno…” Pete trails off for a moment, before he sighs, and pulls himself up by the elbow, until they’re face-to-face. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, the dark with the bathroom light on because Pete’s not a fan of darkness, and he can see Patrick the way he’s always seen Patrick in the black of curtain closed tour beds. Beautiful. “You know how I feel about New York. I feel like… we’re drifting. All of us. Not _us_ , not the band, but everyone else… you know? I hate all my old friends, I can’t hate these ones too.”

For Pete, distance never makes the heart grow stronger. Distance makes Pete adapt in the most unhealthy ways. If he hadn’t seen Patrick a lot during the hiatus, if he hadn’t seen the band in between shows with Bebe, if there was no indication that everyone else wanted more, wanted to start it back up again, he would have let it stay like that for fear that everyone would hate him. In all of its misery.

Patrick hums as he internalizes everything. Pete’s pout that shouldn’t look so childish on a 38 year old man, the fact that Travie doesn’t even live in the city, he gives 6 hours away in Geneseo, the fact that Travie could _technically_ be in the city, a city that spans miles upon miles upon miles, the fact that it’s _Travie_. Everyone loves Travie. And they haven’t seen Travie in….

A while.

It’s been a really long time. Like, the-birth-of-Gabe’s-kid-in-March kind of long.

“I mean… we could ask if he’s here, but-“

Pete shakes his head. “I want it to be a surprise. I’ll text Gabe to ask Trav.”

Patrick gives Pete an exasperated look. “ _Pete_.”

“ _Patrick_. We don’t have anything to do tomorrow… come on, we’ll rally Joe and Andy up, make it a family adventure. Just… mull on it a little. I’ll just call Travie if we can’t, I won’t be too disappointed.”

Total lie. Pete and Patrick both know this. Pete would move heaven and earth for his close friends. Now that this idea is in his head, Patrick can predict Pete flying out upstate within the week, even if it’s for a night.

“Okay, baby,” Patrick says, and he leans down to press a kiss to Pete’s forehead. “We’ll ask Joe and Andy tomorrow. And I’ll think about it.”

Pete falls asleep dreaming about Christmas in 2006. Kissing Patrick in the dirty bathtub, mistletoe dangling from the showerhead. Loud music from Travie’s living room rattling the mirrors, some bass-boosted version of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’. Jon Walker knocking on the door, saying that he ‘really had to piss, what the hell it’s been 20 minutes’, and Patrick drunkenly calling out ‘Taking a shit!’ before he pulled Pete back down for another kiss.

Pete knows that they all out-grow these things and there are, like, actual responsibilities and children in the picture, and midnight is suddenly such an outrageous hour to be up… but it doesn’t mean that it can’t hurt a little.

* * *

gabe NEW new number delete the other ones: _Yeah, Trav said he’s gonna be around a bit and hanging out in Chelsea Market. Miss you brother._

* * *

Patrick wakes up to Travie’s singing voice.

No, really. Pete’s blaring ‘We’ll Be Alright’ from his phone speakers as he (presumably) plays Word Cookies. He’s glaring at his phone, biting his lip, like he’s trying to rack his brain for the right word, like he wants to get through at least this level before he caves and looks up the cheat on the Internet.

Patrick rolls over in the empty bed, looking to cover his ears with a pillow, because he loves Travie’s record, really, but it’s really early in the morning, and-

Suddenly there’s a body flopping onto the bed. “Patrick,” Pete says, softly, one hand on his leg, shaking gently, “it’s almost noon. Time to wake up.”

Or maybe it’s almost noon.

“Noon?” Patrick asks, his voice all scratchy due to all the sleep, and he coughs it away. His eyes are still not really adjusting to the light, and he doesn’t have his glasses on, but he knows himself, knows how long he can sleep, and noon sounds very plausible. “Shit, sorry. Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

He pulls himself up by the elbows, and Pete crawls closer, looking like a total idiot. He kisses Patrick good morning, tasting like Starbucks coffee and cake pops. “Didn’t wanna bother you. Plus, I didn’t want you in a bad mood when I told you the news.”

Eyebrow raise. “The _news_?”

Pete nods sheepishly, and sits on his heels. “So, Andy and Joe don’t wanna come with us to find Travie, because, and this leads into my next point: it’s snowing.”

Patrick turns to look outside. It’s snowing. Nothing like Chicago winters, but the snow is sticking to the ground. Still, it looks like rain, something delicate, and it’s the kind of snow that Patrick hates. He likes the heavy, _real_ snow. This is looking pretty pathetic, nothing more than a nuisance.

“Oh,” Patrick says simply. When he turns back to look at Pete, who’s dressed already for the weather, the Christmas sweater, the thick pants made for shitty weather, the fuzzy socks, with his unstraightened unslicked-back hair, Pete gives him a hopeful look. “But- but I figured we could make it a date, y’know. I went out for coffee and breakfast with Halsey and Cardi B, it’s not even that cold.”

“Right…” Patrick brings a hand to rub the sleepiness away from his eyes- it’s too early his brain to compute Pete hanging out with Halsey and Cardi B. “So, Travie is here, then? Or that’s out of the question and we’re just going out to go out?”

“Oh, no, Trav’s here. Which leads into my other point: he’s all the way in Chelsea. But I figured we could… y’know. Walk there. On the High Line. We never do tourist things, we should do tourist things!”

They don’t do tourist things because of fans, mostly. Pete knows this, knows it’s snowing outside, knows that no one in their right mind is going to walk the High Line now.

He grins at Patrick as he watches the gears click in his head. Pete continues his point, speaking fast in the way that he does when he’s excited, “I think it’s the perfect time to do it, I’ve only walked the High Line once, and _I_ was high, because Brendon thought it would be ironic, but then I got too freaked out, and, and, and we could see the tree in Rockefeller center, and- _please_?”

There’s a moment of silence, because Pete and Patrick aren’t talking, just staring at each other, and the song is switching, but when Patrick’s voice on Cupid’s Chokehold fills the room, when Pete cracks a smile, before he sings horribly “TAKE A LOOK AT MY _BOYFRIEND_ , _HE’S_ THE ONLY ONE I GOT” along with Patrick on the audio, Patrick pulls him in for a kiss for 1) him to shut up, but more importantly 2) to agree with the plan.

To walk around in the freezing cold to find Travis Lazarus Mccoy. Yeah.

* * *

As it turns out, there were a lot of people on the High Line- it’s super beautiful when the snow falls, because you walk above the roads and sidewalks, and get to see everything from a view that’s high up, but not high up to make you wanna puke. But it doesn’t really matter, because Pete and Patrick don’t get recognized- it’s easy to blend in when you’re wearing a hat that covers your hair, a scarf that covers your neck and mouth, are bundled with jackets and the whole shebang. It’s colder than Pete thought too. But there’s the warmth of Patrick on his right side as they walk, they’re holding hands and Patrick grounds him, and it doesn’t matter that Pete can’t feel his face. It’s allllllllllllll good.

“Are you sure you don’t want to put your gloves on?” Patrick asks, muffled against his scarf. His beanie is a little too small for him, so he keeps having to tug it down, but other than that, he looks cozy. Probably because he doesn’t have his hands out of his pockets, with his phone out, taking picture after picture, unlike one Pete Wentz. “You look cold.”

Pete is cold. Pete is very cold. But he shrugs, he reaches a hand out to touch Patrick’s red ear, to bring some warmth back to it, even though it’s snowing, and as soon as Pete warms it up, it’ll go back to being cold. “You look cold. We should get you some earmuffs, that would be so cute.”

“Shut up,” Patrick laughs, shoving him with his shoulder a little. “I mean though, I’m sure your Snapchat audience doesn’t want you spamming them with picture after picture of things that aren’t you.”

“You’re right, my Snapchat audience just wants pictures of you,” Pete remarks, before he leans forward to press a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. They’re never like this, giving public displays of affection, but they feel so safe in a place full of other people. Maybe it’s the rainbow flags on every row of buildings, the other gay couples taking pictures in front of them, or the fact that everything in New York City moves fast in general. No time to bother the two of them.

“Really?” Patrick asks, his eyes falling on the rainbow flags with peaked interest. “Do you want to… um…”

He gives Pete a sheepish look, nodding towards one of the flags waving in the distance.

“Take a selfie?” Pete asks, donning a huge grin. “For _Snapchat_? You’re being really daring today.”

“Well…” Patrick trails off, before he tugs his beanie down again. “I guess I’m realizing that we don’t really do this a lot. Go out by ourselves. It would be cool to document it… or something.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Pete says, bringing Patrick closer by the scarf in a way that he’s not, y’know, actively choking his boyfriend, and he kisses him. The snow makes their faces wet, and Pete’s nose is numb so he can’t feel Patrick’s brushing his, and their lips are chapped from the cold, but they are warm. Patrick is the sun no matter what, and when he brings his gloved hands up to cup Pete’s face, to deepen the kiss, Pete forgets that they’re doing all of this for Travie, forgets that they’re in NYC and they’re in the snow and people could be watching, because it’s just the two of them right now.

Unfortunately, there are people watching.

Right as Pete’s contemplating pushing Patrick back against the railings, they hear a wolf-whistle, and when they turn around, it’s another couple cheering them on. Pete buries his head in Patrick’s jacket, thoroughly embarrassed, and he hears Patrick laugh and wave, feels the vibration on Patrick’s chest through his cheek when Patrick says, “Sorry!”, and then Patrick gently pulls Pete off, and he laughs, softer. “It’s okay, they were fine.”

“I was seriously 2 seconds away from dropping to my knees, man,” Pete says, and Patrick rolls his eyes playfully. “In the middle of the snowstorm, riiiiight.”

No, Pete would do it. No doubts about that. There’s just the whole thing about being famous, and he wouldn’t want Andy and Joe to get in trouble if ‘Pete Wentz, Frontman for Fall Out Boy, Blows Fall Out Boy Singer Patrick Stump In The Middle Of The High Line’ made headlines.

The selfie they take is tame, it’s just Patrick leaning his head on Pete’s shoulder, his scarf covers his mouth, but his smile is evident in his eyes, and Pete sticking his tongue out. The snow is behind them, the rainbow flag waves, and his caption is the rainbow flag emoji followed by a red heart. Because some things don’t need a crazy cryptic caption (only some things…).

Snapchat follows them through the rest of their trip. There’s a snap of all of the anti-Donald Trump art and phrases in apartment windows, and Pete’s caption for it is **‘trump & his supporters fuck off forever’**, countless snaps of Pete’s shoes as he walks through the light snow, there’s a snap of Patrick on the step-stairs, staring at the artwork, and in almost no time, they make it to Chelsea. Time goes by when you’re with good company. And Pete’s in his favorite company.

They can’t sit on the stairs, there’s snow everywhere, but they look out to the pier. By now, it’s nearing 5pm (they only left the hotel at 1:30 and they stopped at Halal Guys for food), and it’s dark already, so the bright lights illuminate the sky and pull their eyes toward the dark sea. Pete never knew silence could be romantic, because Pete’s made of words and being big and extravagant, but it’s quiet right now, and for some reason, that just heightens everything. The snow falling, it’s enough for Patrick’s hat to be wet to the touch, and the streaks of snow on Patrick’s glasses that he constantly wipes away, everything about Patrick is so fucking perfect that it hurts. Pete can’t believe that Patrick would choose him. Can’t believe that this is their life right now. New York in the winter. The high from performing yesterday returns to him, and he’s left feeling so fucking grateful.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks, eyebrows furrowing when he sees Pete’s expression- happiness, yes, but there’s tears connected to it.

“Nothing,” Pete says, smiling through his tears, “I just think age made me really fucking sappy. I love you.”

And Patrick’s not one for ‘I love you’s, he shows his love through actions, like throwing a towel in the dryer while Pete’s in the shower so that when he comes out, there’s a warm towel waiting, leaving the last cookie on the stove for him (even though Bronx usually gets to it first), and letting Pete put the star on top of the tree even though it’s Patrick’s favorite part (and then Pete insists that Patrick do it, and then Patrick insists that, no, Pete should do it, and actually, Bronx gets to do that part too…), but Patrick cups Pete’s face with his gloved hands and says softly, through a blinding white smile, “I love you too” to him, before they kiss again.

And if Pete had the strength, he would lift Patrick off his feet like in all of those movies, but his arms are numb, and Patrick’s practically his height anyways, so they just stay like that for a while, kissing in the cold. Pulling away to laugh about the cold, to exchange “I love yous” again, before they dip back in.

The walk to the market is like nothing is compared side by side to the walk on the High Line, and before Pete can blink, they’re in the warm of the market. They enter through the doors that lead you directly into the spices sections, in Spices and Teases, and Pete’s reminded of his Mom, mostly. The smell of his childhood home, his Mom standing over the stove, the chatter of his family over for the holidays, the dog knocking into the huge Christmas tree, Pete and his siblings running around doing last minute chores, Pete’s vacuuming the rug as people step on it while his Mom yells at him to do something else.

Patrick ends up buying some of the herbs to send to her, and Pete buys some for himself, even though he’s not so good at cooking if they’re not, like… eggs. They share a pinkish-purpleish iced tea as they stroll through the market. The lights around the clock remind Patrick of Christmas lights too, and he takes his own picture of it, and of Pete staring up at them in awe. It’s crazy how Pete’s seen so many things in life, good and ugly, yet something as simple as lights make him appear so young and naïve again. He tugs at Patrick’s arm, points like Patrick can’t see it either, and the piano melody from “The Last Of The Real Ones” chimes in his head. _I was just an only child of the universe, until I found you._

For a while, they forget that they’re supposed to be searching for Travie in the maze of this place. They walk past the water structure, they wander into The Fat Witch Bakery for some blondie brownies, and it’s only when they roam the bookstore that they remember their quest to find a single man in the city of New York.

Because Patrick bumps into him.

While Pete was searching for a book for Bronx, Patrick was mostly admiring this one sign- an anti-theft sign in the bookstore, written in colored pencils. And then he bumped shoulders with someone near the colored pencils. They turned to look at each other, to apologize, and then their eyes widen.

“T-Travie!” Patrick says in disbelief, before he grabs Travie, who’s got a full foot on him, and hugs him tight. Travie mostly hugs back, but when Patrick pulls away, there’s still shock on Travie’s face. “ _Patrick_? What are you-”

“It’s a long story,” Patrick laughs, waving his hands in the air in a way that’s supposed to signify _‘this was one of Pete’s ideas’_ \- Travie understands immediately, especially when he sees Pete barreling his way. “TRAV!”

Their reunion is a little awkward, considering they’re standing in the corner of a crowded store, and when Pete jumps onto Travie, too excited to contain his energy, the both of them go toppling down to the ground, while Patrick smiles grimly to their audience, but in no time, the trio are walking down into the subway system.

“Here, I’ll swipe you guys in,” Travie says, pulling his MetroCard out, before they huddle back with him, on either side of him. And they just _catch up_ \- talking on the train, Travie’s sitting with Patrick as Pete holds onto the railings. There’s a performer on their train, playing Christmas songs on their acoustic guitar, and their rendition of ‘Do You Hear What I Hear’ is enough for Pete to subtly drop two hundred bucks in their guitar case. Everyone’s bundled in winter jackets and Tims, the ground is slippery with snow slushy, and as Travie talks about his niece, about his Christmas present for her, as Patrick begins to fall asleep on Travie’s shoulder before he’s jolted awake by a baby screaming, Pete _feels_ Christmas, even though it’s weeks away.  The Santa Clauses on the road, bothering people for money, Starbucks and their themed drinks, the fucking tree in Rockefeller Center.

“You just have to press the button right here,” Pete says to the elderly woman who agreed to take a picture of the 3 of them. She looks at him, a little confused, but he smiles patiently, and explains it again. “Right here, right in the center? Just- yeah! Perfect! Just, let me just change this so it’s of the tree and not you…”

Their picture, naturally, comes out blurry as hell. But you can make the 3 of them out. Pete’s arm around Patrick’s shoulder, Patrick’s wide grin, Travie making bunny ears on Patrick.

He posts the picture to Instagram, his caption just a tree emoji, followed by Travie and Patrick’s @s… and also a “btw Rick- get back on IG babe”. And as they all walk back to the hotel, Travie in tow, Pete’s phone chimes.

gabe NEW new number delete the other ones: _Fucker. I fucking miss u guys. cum back to meeee. Having a little holiday party next week, tell Trav he better hop on a plane and get here ASAP._

gabe NEW new number delete the other ones:     

Maybe it’s not 2006 anymore. Maybe all of his friends are scattered, maybe he doesn’t even talk to a couple of them anymore. But he’s content with this too. Travie and Andy lounging on Pete and Patrick’s hotel bed talking to Bronx over FaceTime, Elliott taking pictures as he talks to Joe about his holiday plans, Pete's head in Patrick’s lap as Patrick looks over something on Travie’s phone, the inklings of a new song, because Patrick’s a total workaholic. They’re all a little drunk on eggnog, Andy exluded, and he feels warm. So warm. The way that sitting in front of the fire on Christmas Eve feels. Feels like chocolate chip cookies and milk and pajamas and fuzzy socks.

“You okay?” Patrick asks, peering down at Pete. And Pete just smiles, feeling more content than he’s ever felt in this fucking city. “Perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully that was enough christmas? i was mostly thinking WINTER, but ya know :/ 
> 
> also lmaoooo. i've legit only been in chelsea market ONCE and walked the high line once despite the fact that i live one 40 min train ride away from the city! sorry if ur a more seasoned new yorker than me and see a million problems with this ISJDISAJDASKDJSAKDJA i tried my best!! 
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
